It has been a year — no, more than that — since I have written here. I have missed it, but have also struggled with a sense of continued purpose. Pretty much all I do is tell animal stories. In the world as we now know it, a world that is screaming for saving on a cataclysmic level, how exactly does sharing vignettes from a life with animals contribute to the greater cause? Well, it probably doesn’t, but maybe that’s too high a bar. Maybe, just providing a moment of respite or refuge from the toxicity of the news cycle is worthy enough. In one of the first interviews she gave after the bizarre election results of 2016, Hillary Clinton confessed that she had been doing little more than scrolling through cute kitten videos as a means of processing, or not, what happened. See that right there? Animals as escapism therapy.
I have stories, my friends. I have so many stories gifted to me by the animals that have galloped, been carried, hurtled, and fallen into my life. Some of those stories have already been told here. They are Rescue Stories in the sense that things were going very badly for a creature (usually because of bad humans) and then good intervened (usually because of caring humans). But they are also Rescue Stories in that those “acts of good” reaffirm what we humans are capable of and, I think, desire to see more of in the world; the telling of which “rescues” a little bit of hope that goodness will prevail. There is nothing more powerful that acts of compassion and caring for a soul who exists outside of yourself. Well, by my view, anyway.
I am going to start by resharing Molly’s Rescue Story. Please, please follow the link. The “bad human” part comes first, so brace yourselves; years have passed and I still feel the anger. I look forward to sharing the good parts of Miss Molly’s story and will do so soon. Thank you for coming on this journey with us.